Between Me and You
by theglamourfades
Summary: Not for the first time since he had wished to be someone else, but now it was not for his own sake. Set after 1.7 and 2.6.


**A/N: I don't feel like I revisit S1 and S2 enough. These are two, kind of parallel, scenarios that I like to think about.**

 **Disclaimer remains the same eternally: I don't own Downton Abbey, Anna Bates (nee Smith) or John Bates, sob.**

* * *

 _Between Me and You_

It would be wrong to say that the announcement of war had been forgotten about. In the days since – really, the hours could still be counted – it had been all anyone could think of, even if it was seldom a topic for conversation. Mr Carson's repeated statements that business would go on usual and their collective worries should continue to be focused entirely upon Downton Abbey and its most important occupants – at least until more pressing concerns took over – didn't stop the whispers in various corners of the servants' hall. Some were dismissive, most were quietly fearful. The majority of staff were young, and so had no notion of war past fables they had been told or, having been sheltered, had otherwise come to know through other means. Those fairytales had been dark and strange, yet they were fairytales all the same. And yet, the elders amongst them were not at much of an advantage. There were days unknown ahead for everyone, and the thought was far from a comforting one.

John was only too aware of the realities of conflict, even if those years seemed to be like another lifetime now. The storm had been brewing for a few months now, crackles and rumbles gathering, only heard by a select few, as all went on as normal; sheets were folded, shoes were shined. He found himself pondering upon the solaces of routine, and how they had proved only important to him in more recent times. The smell of polish was still on his hands from hours ago. Whenever he allowed himself to think about what was ahead for the country, it seemed unavoidable. Something told him that this war would be quite different, and not as half as easy – _nothing about war was ever easy_ – to be won.

The cast that had been thrown upon that sunny afternoon never faded. But the dark of evening had fallen now. The duties of the day – a day that had been much like the rest of them, before that telegram had been delivered into Lord Grantham's hands – were concluded, and a mood of celebration had been kindled below stairs as all those above rested and did their best to keep unwanted dreams from visiting. It was unfortunate that only people could be at their bidding.

Gwen's face flushed almost the colour of her hair, pinned back and partially covered by the frill adorning it. She clutched at the half-filled glass in her hand, her other held above her waist as she laughed, only with a slight restraint. The maid was not used to being the centre of attention, and she modestly insisted that there was no need for a fuss, especially not after everything. Mr Carson had been readily accepting of the girl's offer, the arch of his eyebrows indicating that he didn't think any revelry was appropriate. Mrs Hughes, on the other hand, would not stand to sit back and be defeated. She had her decorum, and so kept a careful watch to ensure that spirits did not run too fevered, but she remained with a glass of sherry in hand, joining in the party that had been rightly earned by one of the most hardworking and well-liked amongst their staff. Wearing an amiable expression, she tried not to consider the less joyful circumstances in which many of the others would be leaving in the months to come.

He watched from the sidelines, though he hadn't felt like an outsider looking in, not for a long while now. The one who was responsible for making that so was at the side of her companion, laughing with a rush of joy as she jostled with the bottle, spilling a stray drop onto her apron and hastily brushing it away with her free hand. He couldn't keep his eyes from Anna, and it was probably all too visible even in the dim light, yet right now he didn't care of what others may think.

 _Had the advent of another war made him so reckless again, already?_

The smile that tugged keenly at the corners of his mouth considered that it was not recklessness, quite the opposite. He had been cautious – perhaps too much, to the point that he had infuriated himself with his actions time and again, tying his hands tighter with string and the dull ache of self-punishment. Yet it was his true nature – unlike all of the guises he had tried on in the past, bringing nothing but detriment – and she had shown him that being himself wasn't as much of a trial as he had long considered it to be. With revelations and quiet conversations that meant much more – _more than his heart had ever been able to hold_ – he had come to accept. Not just the man he was, but the man he was becoming. The hidden parts of himself that in all his years of contemplation and desperate soul-searching got him nowhere had revealed themselves in a much swifter space of time when he had been in the company of Anna.

Things were set to change once more. The whole world needed to be resilient, and that came more naturally to some over others.

John marvelled at the way Anna held herself, the weight on her shoulders not dismissed but balanced with grace. She moved about like a dancer in a dream, light and nimble, elegant even when she stumbled, always ready to giggle at the small misfortune, never priding herself in too high a regard – though if anyone deserved it, it surely was her. Her smile was brighter and brought on purer joy than ever came from the dawning of a summer's day, days that were cherished all the more for the run of dreary winters that preceded them. He was unable to perceive how there could possibly be darkness when she was around. It was of no doubt that it was her light that had brought him out of the shadows, and her conviction that made him feel strong enough to start to fight again, fighting for good. For her, just as much as for himself. He found himself striving to make her proud of him, a task that at times seemed impossible to him with all of his faults but was still fulfilled just as easily as the pot of tea was poured each morning. He yearned to do more to feel worthy of her affectionate looks, the brush of touches she offered with a hint of a blush upon her face whenever was possible.

Love was about what you were willing to give, and not to get. He understood that now, making any other version of 'love' he had known fade fast into less than insignificance. Her admission of love, as so incredibly brave as it had been, had given him considerable strength, as well as so much else besides, and he often found himself returning to that sun-shaded walk in his mind, hearing her sweet voice echo along the breeze. Not for the first time since he had wished to be someone else, but now it was not for his own sake. He had spent days, months, longing for the blood of another to flow through his veins, to fill his heart with the freedom he wanted so much to give to her, though it was not any kind of return for all she had done for him so far.

Before long she was by his side, in their usual places, standing rather than sitting. She ignored the rather awkward way he was leaning upon his cane, and he felt guilty from steering her away from the party, though he knew she would only argue that she was doing exactly what she wanted to. She could be more stubborn than him at times.

He smiled at her, his heart taking flight when she answered just the same.

"Slice of cake?" she nodded towards the majestic looking sponge that stood in the centre of the table, a creation that Mrs Patmore had fretted over particularly, when usually it was a staple that caused her no problems.

"I've already had a doorstop's worth," he replied softly, hating to rebuff her over the smallest matter.

Her elbow nudged lightly against his arm, the touch causing a jolt to travel through him. "A little more. For Gwen. She won't be here much longer that you can blame her for it."

He huffed a little in amusement, tracing the shine in her eyes. "I suppose I can get away with it, then."

She went away for but a few seconds, and he watched the curve of her back as she cut two slivers, placing them on the one large plate, though there wasn't a lack. _It'd save on washing-up_ , she said. They held it between them with one hand each, smiling at one another as they ate. Her dainty fingers, hard at work only hours ago, dabbed up the remaining crumbs from her slice, and John took pleasure in seeing her satisfied.

Plate discarded, she crammed tighter by his side. If he had more courage, and if they were outside instead, he would have chanced holding his hand at her waist. He was glad for the restraint imposed on them in this instance.

"You'll miss her," he said.

She was sorrowful; he knew that. She was losing a good friend, not permanently or brutally, but there would be a great effect all the same. Still, she kept her demeanour bright, unfailingly. Some may have considered it a fault, but John had nothing but admiration for the way she remained so optimistic.

"I will," she replied, looking towards where Gwen was talking with Daisy. The smile on her face was wistful, and he felt assured that he hadn't missed it, though her sorrow was always hard to spot. "But it won't be the end of the world. We'll keep in touch, there's that much." A little spark rose from beneath, adding yet more colour to her cheeks. "It'll be something to have a pen friend, I've always wanted one."

John chuckled, folding his arms against him. The ache in his leg had lessened considerably since they had been in company once more.

Her head bowed for a moment, the matching frill set against hair that had been spun from gold setting up a striking comparison.

"She's going for the best reason. She'll be doing what she's dreamt of, and that's something for us all to find joy in. Especially now, with all that we'll have to face."

The wisdom beyond her years made her even more beautiful, and remarkable to him.

A small sigh escaped her as she turned, bringing her hand to the back of her head. A chair was nearly knocked to the floor as Tom Branson twirled Gwen around, the pair of them laughing heartily as the others clapped a tune.

"It's wrong for me to be sad, because it'll only be for my sake."

He looked at her, feeling stricken by her confession. She was the most selfless person he had ever known, never prone to jealousy or giving warning, and yet she was still so aware of such foreign feelings arising.

"It's not wrong, Anna." He kept his voice soft, doing what he could to comfort her. "It's perfectly natural to be sad when someone you've grown close to goes away."

Her eyes were almost burning as she stared into his. Still waters did run the deepest, and the chord struck with him too, as soon as the words had left his mouth. He tried not to think about her tears if things had not been so favourable. His own would have come forth too, flowing more than the night he had wept in his room, believing his short career at Downton was over. He had seen the kindness in her soul then, clearer than the light of day, and he was certain that he would not last a single day without it. He had been a fool to speak with such authority, telling her not to miss him, when he would have pined for her every moment.

She smiled up at him, and he was certain he had never been at greater peace. After all the heartache he caused, the words he could never say, there was little that made him feel happier than knowing he was able to bring her some consolation.

 _The party had come to a close, all the decorations and accompaniments tidied away. Nobody had really been able to carry on properly after the shock waves, smiles and chatter sent out on the summer afternoon air giving the appearance of disguise. They were both so tired it was a wonder they were still standing._

 _The night was fine; both had agreed that some air would do them good, even if it was rather muggy._

 _They simply needed to be with one another._

 _Anna's gaze was angled down at the cobbled ground beneath their feet, her lips pursed in quiet contemplation. John's gaze did not leave her for a second, the calm and practised veneer of a soldier cracking as her mouth parted, her wide blue eyes meeting to his._

" _I'm afraid," she said, quietly, simply._

 _He nodded, wanting to be rid of the lump in his throat._

 _She shuffled nearer to him, his figure towering above hers. He only seemed to notice how petite she was just then. Without hesitation his hands placed themselves upon her shoulders, letting out a tightly held breath as he rubbed small circles against the starched fabric of her black dress. Her eyes grew softer, and he quirked a half-smile, as if to promise that everything would be alright, despite his uncertainty. This was not the time for agonising or wearing pretence that did nothing to hide the truth._

 _Her hand met the pleat of his jacket, hesitant for less than a second until she pressed at his chest._

" _I'm glad you won't be going. So very, very glad."_

 _He exhaled deeply, tightening his hold about her. He was glad too, beyond so. War had been bad enough the first time, but to leave her behind in such a way, worrying away and waiting, waiting longer, on top of that which she had already shown herself willing to endure. It would have broken him._

 _His fingers closed around hers, sending her to tip her head back. The touch he offered was entirely unthought of, though he never took any touch or look or smile for granted._

 _Whatever happened around them, they would always have a place to go._

Perhaps it unnerved him slightly, though he had only been concerned with making her feel better. She was always so sure in the things she said and felt. That wisdom that he had fallen in love with, as much as everything else. Slowly, she had taught him to be the same. He felt like he would never catch up to her – she was but one of a kind, in every sense – but now, he had accelerated. Maybe it did have something to do in part with the war that was oncoming, but it was true that he had been fighting his own battle for a long while. They would, too. He grieved for the fact that he would likely put her through more hardship, but he smiled to consider the look on her face when he told her what he had needed to reveal for so long and what she had ought to hear.

He would no longer turn away from the love she offered. He would no longer deny what he felt for her. If he was deemed to be weak, he had already shown the signs. He had written about Anna in the letters he sent to his mother, with more glowing and romantic words than he had ever discussed the woman who was still his wife, in nothing but legal terms. He had warned off Mr Molesley when he really shouldn't have. _All was fair..._

In the days gone by he would have asked himself what was there to win. Maybe his courage wouldn't last, but for now all he could think of was _what was there to lose_. If they were in it together, there was no power they could not defeat.

She had made him free, in the dearest meaning of the word. He owed it to her to be so in every sense.

Applause rang out, polite in its form but enough to startle them both. They clapped along too, Anna smiling widely out towards Gwen who was beaming and mimicking taking a bow after her turn in the capable arms of the chauffeur.

It was strange, really. For all the loyalty and service shown, none of them were irreplaceable. After smiles and nods and fond farewells, duty was done and they would be sent on their way. Much like it was in the army, when the survivors were there to say farewell. Anna had told him a couple of days ago that an advertisement was already being prepared; women would not have to worry about leaving a post shortly after they had taken it up.

"What do you hope for from the new arrival?" he asked, cringing at the ill-timing of his question.

Anna didn't berate him, of course.

"I don't mind much," she shrugged, saving a smile for him. He wasn't surprised at that; she always got on so well with everyone. If he was of a mind to be more self-deprecating in the moment, he would have marked himself as the ultimate example. "As long as they pick up after themselves and don't keep me awake, I'm sure everything will be dandy. Though I wouldn't complain about having my own space for a little while."

"It's not all it's cracked up to be," he let slip, causing a fire to rise upon the back of his neck as he found her eyes once more.

Her hands went to her apron, examining the small, hardly noticeable splashes of wine she had split upon herself, before she undid the ties, slipping it over her head and then draping it upon one of the chairs. No doubt she'd rise even earlier to soak it clean, and he made a note to himself to go down before her and save her the job. He always woke before dawn, and he knew how she valued every bit of sleep she could get.

"Whoever turns up, I don't think I can complain," she said, sounding cheerier than he had expected her to.

"Oh?" He turned instinctively to her, flustering slightly as their hips almost bumped.

She stopped short a giggle, smiling clearly and beautifully instead. Her hands knotted together before they fell to her side, John holding a breath as she leaned closer to him, her voice but a whisper.

"Between me and you, as long as I have you, Mr Bates, I think I have everyone and everything I shall ever need."

* * *

In some ways, the ending of war was just as unnerving as its beginnings. Once the private celebrations had taken place, in a rush amongst the other work that still had to be carried out, and the clock had chimed out, a muted feeling had pervaded. Houses and villages were left emptier, the absence of those dearly loved starting to be properly felt. Life would go on, but never as it was before, no matter how much prayer and pretence was offered. There was happiness, of course, but it was overpowered by an almost stinging sense of relief that the worst was finally done.

It was a day that would always be remembered, the day that all fell silent once more. The promise of brighter days in grasp seemed so real, and John allowed himself to hope, following Anna as they filed back to the servants hall on that late morning, letting his hand brush at hers whilst bodies moved too quickly to notice.

Looking back, the timing seemed crueller. The telegram passed into his hands, the news that would shake the foundations of his own world written inside.

Vera was dead.

He had already left the hall before the clock chimed again, though the ringing followed his steps, along with the eyes full of worry and love that he knew were watching.

While the country had ground to a halt, they had been able to move along, slowly but with certainty. He had remembered that joyous night, returning to Downton from his own war of the heart, looking into Anna's eyes and seeing how they shone with joy once more. He had sworn a promise to himself, filled with yet more determination now that he was back. First of all, he would never leave again. He would need to be torn from Anna's embrace, as soothing to his soul as it also set all of his senses alight. Now he was surer than ever. He wouldn't dare to give in, no matter how hard and treacherous Vera fought. He would pursue every way possible, and when one proved to be the key that unlocked his shackles, victory would be theirs, all the sweeter for struggles overcome. He didn't think of the struggles ahead, not when Anna smiled up at him, her small hands strong as they swept at his neck, reaching to cup his cheeks. He had laughed while his own hands held her tighter, everything but her fading from his memory.

They sat in the courtyard, though the nights grew colder. Away from prying eyes and ears that could listen in too closely. He berated himself for the way her shoulders shuddered at the December chill, wondering how much more suffering he would hand to her. Her eyes remained clear and understanding. He would shelter her as much as he was able, but she said she'd been past worse and come out the other side. He didn't question. He simply longed to hold her without care of who may find them folded together, whispering innocent words of comfort to one another with the night as their cover.

Her practicality was a gift to him, even though he wished for her sake that she needn't use it so much. She wavered when stating that he was Vera's next of kin. His heart broke at the true fact, breaking more that she should be the one to say so. _That counts for something, at least._

He was a widower now. The term fitted him poorly. He might have deeply regretted the part he played in turning Vera so sour, willing to shoulder the blame for that. But he did not mourn for her, not even out of guilt. It seemed impossible to do so.

She was gone, either way, but she remained in their lives; a shadow that could not be dispersed.

He managed a smile when Anna's fingers clasped his again, his eyes upon her lips as she uttered the words that she was so sure of.

 _We will find a way. Whatever happens._

She was sitting in the servants' hall when he arrived back down, head bent over a swathe of material laid upon the table. He breathed a sigh of relief that they were alone, which didn't go unheard. She looked up at him, smiling brighter as he came nearer and took the seat next to her, better known than second nature. In these moments his optimism built, his burdens put away.

Still, he was a brooder, and she noticed too quickly as his hands fumbled to remove the lid from the small pot of polish.

"What is it?" she questioned quietly, with enough sorrow underneath her tone to make him stop. It didn't seem to be concealed as much any more.

The smile lit up her features when he caught her hand, covering it with his, halting her work too.

"Nothing I want to trouble you with," he said softly, letting out a sigh when she furrowed her brow towards him. His other hand cushioned his chin. "I'm just trying to figure it out. Whether it was impulsive, or if she had some kind of plan."

It tore at him to mention her, if not by name, but Anna always bid him to speak what was on his mind, and he owed her that much.

"Most certainly she did," she replied curtly, though her gaze was soft when she glanced at him. "She knew she was running out of options. I wouldn't have thought it at first, but we both know her mind didn't work like most people's."

John nodded slowly, brushing his fingers against her skin before releasing her hand. They worked in tandem, their matched movements soothing his mind.

"In your mother's house of all places," she exclaimed, breaking their comfortable silence. "It makes me so angry."

"Don't go down that road," he uttered gently. "It's exactly what she would want."

"Have they said when you can go and clean up? I can see if they'd let me have the time to help you."

He gave the simple, damning answer. "I don't think I'm to be let near."

He could almost hear Vera's peals of laughter as time ticked away, too slowly. Perhaps it was all perfectly natural procedures, but given the fact that he hadn't been contacted for a few weeks now, not since the initial measures had been taken, it seemed to lean towards the blacker side of things.

A ray of sunlight broke through into the little window, perfectly aligning with Anna's look towards him.

"I know that it's easier said than done, but please try not to dwell on it too much." She knew him only too well, and had chosen willingly to love a hopeless over-thinker, adapting to his ways and making allowances for them. "Let's worry about it all later, and just think about having a happy Christmas."

She could fight her battles, quite ferociously, but she knew when to let things lie and be calm too, and that was the most courageous thing of all.

He smiled, almost forgetting that the season was so near. It sounded like a very good thing to do, and it was for certain that he couldn't fail to be happy whenever he thought of her. Being with her was better, of course, but that wasn't possible as often as he wanted. He did his best to concentrate on what he was doing, remembering what his Lordship had told him in passing that very morning, about more work being planned on the cottages. The images colliding in his head - of him and Anna sitting at a table of their own, sipping tea as the evening went by, their limbs tangled and bodies breathing as they lay together in a comfortable bed - were too much to bear but so delightful. Perfect. All he had ever dreamed, and not so far out of reach.

They would be wait and be respectable – they were never anything but the picture of respectability, another thing that would be favourable – but much sooner than had been expected, they would have what they had fought for.

No greater happiness could ever be possible.

Christmas passed peacefully, and they enjoyed it with the other servants and with each other, exchanging small gifts and finding quiet moments to be together. The new year approached – the first in four years that was free from the shadow of war – and it couldn't come quickly enough. Anna talked along with some of the others about her hopes – saving the deepest kinds for him to hear alone – and John listened with quiet joy at how very modest they were, while his stomach clenched with nerves that refused to go away.

The night before New Year's Eve was clear, the dusting of snow that had covered the grounds at Christmas long melted. He wouldn't keep her long, draping his jacket over her shoulders before leading her out into the courtyard, to the spot they always stood and shared thoughts and dreams. A laugh escaped her in the night air, lingering as her breath became visible in the chill. The sweet sound put him at ease, as did her fingers laced with his.

He smiled at her before he spoke, captivated by the glimmer of her eyes, the slightly differing shades of pink that tinged her cheeks and lips.

"When you asked me if I was proposing to you," he halted, recalling how wonderful he had felt in that moment. He couldn't fail to think about all that had happened since, but nothing changed the perfection of that memory, and he could only hope that this one would become even more cherished. "You should know that I never wanted..."

There was a small smirk painting her face, though her voice remained quite serious.

"Mr Bates, if you're telling me that I've been mistaken all this time..."

He shook his head, cupping her hand tenderly and pulling it to his chest, laying her palm flat against him. She let out a little gasp that shot straight to his soul.

"I didn't want to promise you anything before I was certain, but that would have taken far longer than I desired. I thought if I said the words, while I was still tied and not everything was sure, that they would be jinxed."

He stopped to be still and simply look at her, the woman whose love and loyalty reached beyond the highest points of heaven and earth.

"I'm so sorry that I've given you nothing but false starts."

She fixed him with a look of quiet determination, her hand moving in small circles against him.

"I'm not sorry," she answered, causing him to smile. "That was one of the happiest moments of my life, however it went." She let out another beautiful giggle. "If I'm honest, I don't remember much past you kissing me."

"And if I recall, you weren't sure whether to smack me first," he quipped, chuckling as she coloured, looking rather shamed.

His open smile brought her back, and she followed his movements as he lifted her hand into the air, rubbing his fingers tenderly over the third finger.

This was what she had always deserved, and now he was able to give it to her. A proper proposal. He didn't care that his feet felt like they were frozen inside his shoes. The warmth he got from holding Anna's hand, from gazing into her eyes, sustained him more than any fire.

He knew the words from memory, had read them over to himself between the pages of a battered book in his room for the past several nights. They flowed much easier than he had rehearsed now that she was in front of him. His heart led the way.

"I pledge to you that yours will be the name I cry aloud in the night, and the eyes into which I smile in the morning."

A fire stirred in his stomach as he noticed Anna blushing faintly, although her eyes remained steady and quite keen indeed. He tempered his desire, overwhelmed by pure love the longer he drank her looks in.

"I pledge to you the first bite from my meat, and the first drink from my cup."

He couldn't stop himself from smiling inbetween words, the promises that had always been true within him finally being let free.

"I pledge to you my living and dying, equally in your care," they looked at each other in that moment, the significance not lost and the most important matter for them both.

Anna gripped tighter to his hand, knotting their fingers together once more. He felt her touch as though it was that which was printed upon his own fingertips.

"And tell no strangers our grievances."

That may not be the easiest thing to do, looking ahead, but it didn't seem to matter. As long as they had each other, they truly had everything.

"This _will be_ my marriage vow to you," tears threatened to choke his throat as he spoke the words, and they didn't hesitate from filling his eyes. Anna's eyes shone stronger in the silver of the moonlight, making her more radiant than he had ever seen. "This _will be_ a marriage of equals."

It seemed to be too much for her, and he caught her as she came forth into his welcoming arms, her own reaching around his back and up to his shoulders.

Filled with joy, he nestled his head against her, being careful not to cry upon her dress.

"Anna May Smith," he said her name like a sacred vow that stood alone from the rest, "will you do me the honour of marrying me?"

Her breath left her quickly. "Yes," she uttered happily, her hands scorching through his shirt as she traced them up and down his back. "Yes. I think it would be _my_ honour, Mr Bates."

He grinned, unable to argue the case for her calling him by his first name for this very moment. It was simply too perfect to be altered in any way.

She arched her back against his hands, straightening up to her full height. John smiled as she rubbed her thumb against his cheek, cupping her hand there, the chill of the wind that had brushed his face not occurring to her in the slightest.

"I'm sorry that I couldn't get onto one knee," he offered.

"Silly beggar," Anna sputtered. Her other hand moved down his chest, stopping where his heart thrummed against her fingers. "I won't have you putting yourself in pain for me."

Her words, though lightly meant, hit home for him. How much he wanted to lessen the load the other way around.

"I'm sorrier that you had to wait so long."

Quite rightly, she fixed him with another look. Her fingers stroked his skin, and he had to be careful not to melt against her touch.

"Other people will be waiting forever," she said with just a touch of sadness, her heart always full of empathy.

They were silent for a moment, her leading him in silent prayer. Respects paid, they were simply too happy to sorrow for too long.

The past was forgotten, the future yet to be. He had only managed to live fully in few moments in all his life, but he was beyond grateful that this was one of them.

He smiled as she loosened his hair just a touch, knowing that the hour was late, and that she'd fix it back into place before they returned inside, being the picture of decorum for all purposes except in their soaring hearts.

"I'm so lucky to have you," she whispered, the smile imprinted on her face. "More now than ever."

To hear her say such things would never fail to give him thrills, putting his heart at ease.

"I'm the lucky one," he said in return. He nuzzled his nose against her neck, making her laugh against his cheek. "To have you. My everyone," he traced his fingers around hers, "my everything."

And she truly was.

* * *

 **A/N: The second half was inspired by a discussion from Tumblr a while back which suggested that John wasn't intending the moment in 2.1 to be a proposal (that it was more a promise, at least until Vera was properly out of the picture...in circumstances that would have been less drastic) and imagining what his _real_ proposal might have been like. The lines John speaks to Anna here are taken from traditional Celtic wedding vows. I'm sure in any universe what he had to say to her was incredibly romantic. **

**I also wanted to challenge myself in this fic using the 'Kiss Rule' (which I also read about on Tumblr), which states: 'If they have to kiss for you to know they're in love, you're not writing a romance right.' (now obviously I don't always agree with this, especially when you don't have the advantage of actors playing your scenes for you...but it was interesting to try it out) (and I know at the point of 1.7 they hadn't kissed anyway...)**


End file.
